The One After Almost Everybody Finds Out
by greenish orange
Summary: [In Progress] Chandler and Monica struggle to hide their secret from Ross. CM.
1. The First One

**A/N: **So here's the deal. After some nudging, self-searching, and ideas that won't leave me alone, I have decided to try my hand at writing a multi-chaptered story. This takes place immediately after TOW Everybody Finds Out, but will continue on a slightly different path.

Many thanks to all my reviewers – and especially Amy, because apart from being my self-proclaimed biggest fan, she's also a terrific friend and writer. You rock, bud.

-

As soon as he closed the door, she was in his arms, smiling against his lips as she worked furiously to unbutton his sweater-vest. "These things _really _aren't meant for sexual emergencies, are they?" Monica commented between kisses.

"Because?" Chandler asked, as one of the buttons tore off the vest and skidded across the linoleum floor.

"Two layers," she said impatiently. "One with buttons."

He twirled her in a half-circle so that they were facing away from the wayward button. "We can fix it later," he told her.

"Oh, thank God," she breathed, kissing him with newfound vigor. After a long moment, she pulled away to study his face; her eyes softened. "This is crazy, you know, you and me."

"Yeah, I pretty much figured," he said, touching her temple lovingly. "Ever since we considered doing the dirty with your brother in the same room, I knew there was no turning back."

"How romantic."

"It really is."

Monica laughed. "I should have specified."

"Whoa, hey," Chandler protested. "I'm bearing my soul here!"

Her wrist fluttered up to meet her forehead as Monica pretended to swoon against his chest. "Oh, Chandler, you're so suave, I do so love it when you use clichés!"

"Very funny, Mon."

She looked up at him with all the sincerity she could muster. "I mean, you're so tall and strapping, you hot piece of masculinity."

He grinned. "So you think so too?"

She smiled, shook her head in amusement, and stood on tiptoe to kiss him. Chandler had moved his hands to her hair and she was flinging his vest to the side when there was a loud knocking at the door.

"What the hell?" Monica cried, jumping at the noise. Chandler glanced at his hands in wonder.

"Hey, they've never made _that_ noise before."

Monica rolled her eyes at him, straightened the collar of her shirt, and strolled assertively to the door. She looked through the peephole.

"It's Joey and them!" she hissed at Chandler from across the room.

"At least they knocked," Chandler said lightly, as Monica flung open the door with a vengeance.

"Hey Mon!" Joey greeted. He made his way to the fridge and pulled out a bowl of tiramisu. Rachel and Phoebe followed in his wake.

"What are you _doing_ here?" Monica snapped at Rachel.

Before Rachel could answer, or at least defend herself, Phoebe cried, "Wow, how stupid _are_ you guys?"

"What?" Monica said fiercely, facing Phoebe, who was standing by the window.

"You couldn't even make it into the bedroom?" Phoebe said, examining the haphazard clothing on the floor and couch. Monica noticed her shoe had knocked over a lamp and hurried over to right it, the blood rushing to her face. Phoebe looked out the window. "Hey! And there's Ross!" She waved cheerfully.

Chandler and Monica exchanged looks of dread. Monica blanched.

Rachel meandered over to the window. "Don't die on us yet. I think it's all clear. Ross isn't carrying any weapons or anything." She waved. "I think he's coming over, though, he's gesturing something." She squinted. "Wait, yeah, either that, or he's flicking us off."

"Hey, let me see him!" Joey cried through a mouthful of tiramisu. He stumbled in front of the window and waved frantically. "Dude, Ross, hi!"

"Somehow, I don't think _we're _the stupid ones," Chandler said, crossing his arms. "JOE," he said loudly, "ROSS CAN'T HEAR YOU."

"WHY ARE YOU YELLING?" Joey yelled back.

"Stop it!" Monica said, waving her hands in mild hysteria. "Stop it, stop it, stop it!"

Chandler put his hands on her shoulders. "I think what she means to say is – why the hell are you guys here?"

"I needed my clothes for work tomorrow," said Rachel, "and I figured the longer we waited over _there_," she gestured across the hall to Apartment 19, "the longer you guys had in _here_, to, you know, do what you're doing. And I'm _not_ waking up any earlier than I have to. We're actually doing you a huge favor by staying out of your hair the rest of the night. And, hey, at least we knocked!"

"That's what I said!" Chandler commented enthusiastically. Monica looked at him in amused exasperation.

"So you came over to get your clothes?" she repeated.

"And my quarters!" Phoebe exclaimed.

"Your what?"

"My quarters," said Phoebe. "Rachel said you wouldn't have them, but I said, of course you would, were you dead? Do laundry, or do Chandler – hmmm, _that's_ a toughie!"

"That may be the single most inappropriate thing I have ever heard," Chandler commented. "I'm standing right here, Phoebs."

"But it's true!" Phoebe protested.

"Yeah . . . it is true," Monica relented. She left the room and returned with a sack of quarters and a heavy bag of dirty laundry. "We never did do your laundry."

Joey catcalled. Chandler stared at him unblinkingly.

"Never mind," he deadpanned, "_that _is the most inappropriate thing I have ever heard."

"But it's true," said Joey good-naturedly.

"What the –" Chandler sputtered in bewilderment. "Catcalling can't be _true_! It's just a thing you _do_. It can't be _true _or _false_!"

"Yeah, it can."

"No. It can't."

"It can!"

"It can't!"

"It can!"

"It can't!"

"It –"

Monica yelled, "My _God_, you kids are driving me _crazy_!"

Rachel and Phoebe grinned as the boys mumbled apologies to Monica. Rachel cleared her throat. "Well, I might as well collect my stuff . . ." She passed Monica gingerly and said under her breath, "Good luck, Chandler."

"And I'll take these," Phoebe said, snatching the quarters from Monica. "I'm going to buy a spoon for the nice lady in the jailhouse."

"She doesn't have a spoon?" Chandler asked.

"Yeah, well, you know, the plastic ones aren't good for digging escape routes," Phoebe said casually. "She says, if she gets free, she won't murder me _or_ my friends! Isn't that nice?" Monica, Chandler, and Joey stared at her as she nonchalantly counted the number of quarters in the rucksack. "You're totally welcome, by the way."

Chandler grimaced. "Uh-huh."

"Okay, okay, _okay_!" Rachel sang, as she emerged from her room with a bulging duffel bag. "We can go now! I have my things for the morning!" She looked suddenly very amused. "Hey, whoa, it's like a slumber party!"

"But I want to hang out!" Joey whined.

Chandler and Monica exchanged harassed looks. Phoebe and Rachel each grabbed Joey by an arm and proceeded to drag him out of the apartment.

-

"So, after careful examination of my behavior, Donald tells me that he believes I'm ready to be released from my psychiatric leave and rejoin my team at the museum . . . which means, as of tomorrow, I'll be back at work!"

Everyone chorused their congratulations.

"Oh good," said Phoebe, "you've been such a loser lately. It'll be good to see you back on your feet!"

Ross shot her a look, and then stared at Monica, who had her head buried into Chandler's shoulder, shaking with silent laughter. Chandler shrugged. "She's right, you know."

"I guess this means she's feeling better," Ross said, glaring at Monica's obscured face.

"Feeling – ?"

"Yes!" Phoebe cried. "Completely and utterly cured! Voila!"

Ross looked skeptical. "Strep throat takes _days_ to heal, Phoebs."

"How _did _she do it?" Rachel said, smiling at him.

"That's what I'm asking _you_!" He looked at Monica, who had finished mouthing, '_Strep throat?_' to Phoebe. She immediately straightened and tried not to look guilty.

"I have an abnormally fast immune system," Monica told him. Ross narrowed his eyes at her.

"_Ross_," said Phoebe, as though she was talking to a particularly stubborn toddler, "all that skepticism will get you _nowhere_ in life."

"Okay, whatever," said Ross, standing up and brushing off his pants. "I'm going to the bathroom."

As soon as Ross rounded the corner, Monica cried, "_Strep throat?"_

"Hey, did you want your time with Chandler or not?" Phoebe replied.

"Yeah," Rachel pitched in, "as soon as he came up from his apartment yesterday, he wanted to go out and celebrate his 'big news' . . . of course, he refused to tell us what it was before you and Chandler were with us . . . so, naturally, he asked where you were . . ."

"And so Monica became sick with strep throat and Chandler was working overtime," Phoebe said.

"On a _Saturday_?" Chandler asked disbelievingly.

Rachel shrugged. "I honestly don't think he noticed."

Joey, who had been glowering at them this entire conversation, finally said, "I can't stand all these secrets, you guys! C'mon, just tell him!"

"No!" Monica and Chandler cried at the same time.

"Just tell him!" Joey cried pathetically. "You _owe_ me!"

Rachel patted his arm. "Honey, look at it this way, aren't you having at least a little bit of fun with it?"

"No!" he said, crossing his arms. "I just want it to end! I'm sick of lying to everyone!" He pulled on his coat. "Listen, you guys, I'm gonna go, I don't want any more of this."

"Joey!" everyone cried, but he was already out the door.

"What's going on?" Ross asked, returning from the bathroom. "Where's Joey?"

Chandler looked at the door, and then at Ross. "Strep throat, man. Monica sneezed on him."

Ross looked disgusted. "Well, don't sneeze on _me_, I still don't think you're completely cured yet."

Monica pinched Chandler's shoulder angrily. He smiled sweetly at her.


	2. The Second One

**A/N: **Thanks for the support, everyone! So, without further ado, I present chapter two. (Hey, that rhymes!).

-

Chandler found Joey on his barcalounger, stringing together paperclips as he watched the evening news. Sighing, he set down his coat, yanked open the refrigerator, and fished out the remaining two beers from his secret stash behind the fruits and vegetables. He popped one open and Joey swirled his chair around. Chandler threw him the second.

"Where's Monica?" Joey asked, casually opening his beer.

"With Ross," Chandler replied. "Big victory dinner or something."

"Oh."

"Hey," Chandler said, making his way to his own chair with his eyes fixed on the television screen, "since when do you watch the evening news?"

"Since there was a robbery on a nude beach and I'm about to get the inside scoop."

Silence reigned for a long moment, in which the only noise was the news anchor droning on about a new medication aimed at elderly women. Joey tapped his fingers on his armrest. Chandler shifted in his seat.

"Listen, man –" he started.

"No, _you _listen, man," Joey said sharply, muting the television and facing Chandler forcefully. "I'm tired of this. I've done a lot for you guys, okay, ever since I found out – covering for you, taking the blame, everything. And now, all I'm asking is for you to stop this stupid little game and grow up! Just tell Ross! Wouldn't you both be much happier with everything out in the open?"

"Well, yeah, but –"

"So just _tell him_!" Joey cried. Chandler nervously ran a hand through his hair and focused on the swirling contents inside his beer can.

"Look, I'm just terrified something's going to happen to us if we do," Chandler admitted. "I agree with you, Joe, I really do, but it's really not that easy . . . I mean, I see myself telling him and then – dying of a mysterious illness, or committing suicide, and I have to worry, you know, because that's what I do, I worry. I worry about women, about relationships, about babies – and, here, everything's perfect, and I have to worry, because it doesn't make any sense that all of this is happening for me."

"Well, it is," Joey said. "And it's not just because it's a secret, either." He swirled his chair back around. "Or at least that's what I think. But my opinion doesn't seem to mean much right now."

Before Chandler could say another word, Joey un-muted the television and ended the conversation.

-

"He's really angry with us," Chandler said, pacing Monica's bedroom restlessly later that night. "He's angry that he's been stuck in the middle for so long, and that I don't have the balls to tell Ross about us –" He furiously kneaded his forehead with his hands. "I want to, I really do, but – it's like . . ." He looked helplessly at Monica.

"I know," she said.

He looked mollified for a priceless moment. "You don't think –"

Monica stood up and snaked two elegant arms around his neck. "You silly man, I know you have balls."

He laughed and kissed her gently. She smiled. "Hey," he said, in sudden thought, "how'd your dinner with Ross go?"

"Terribly," she said, sighing in remembrance. "I guess I'm not very good at acting sick or something, because he kept giving me these weird looks, like he expected me to pass out, and when I didn't, he made snide comments about my 'abnormally fast immune system', and – _man_ am I glad to see you."

"Because you miss _my _snide comments?"

"Precisely," she replied, running her hands up his chest. "Listen, I booked some time with you through Rachel, so . . ."

"How does that make Rachel sound like a pimp?"

Monica threaded his hair with her hands. "How does that make _you _sound like a gigolo?"

"Touché."

"Anyway," Monica continued, sounding triumphant, "I know how you like it over here, and since we were thwarted earlier, I thought, well," she kissed him softly and pressed up against his chest, "I could make it up to you. Rachel provided the distraction."

Chandler looked into her eyes. "Are we going to have to hire a distraction whenever we want to see each other?"

"Well, we could always go to your place. Ross can't see us sneaking off together over _there_."

"I don't think my place is an option right now," Chandler replied dismally.

"Then, yeah. We need distractions."

Chandler sat down on the bed. Monica plopped down beside him. "Do you ever get tired of sneaking around?"

"All the time," she replied. "But I just don't feel ready to tell him yet. Especially after everything else he's been going through lately. It might kill him."

"Yeah," Chandler said. "I wish there was a way of telling him – you know, without him actually reacting."

Monica laid back on the bed and Chandler followed suit. "Like, gag and tie him up, then yell it out as we're running out the door?"

"That's pretty much what I had in mind."

"We're both evil geniuses, then."

"Excellent," Chandler said. Monica scooted closer into the contours of his body and rested her head on his chest.

"Excellent."

-

Early the next morning, Chandler made his bleary-eyed way across the hall to his apartment. Briefly hoping that Joey wouldn't be awake, he opened the unlocked door and jumped as the faces of Phoebe and Rachel greeted him a cheerfulness that thoroughly disgusted him.

"Good morning, sleepyhead!" Rachel cried, wielding a cup of coffee in her left hand. Chandler eyed it enviously.

"Mmmph," he replied.

"I totally love your hair like that, Chandler," Phoebe told him energetically from Joey's barcalounger. "It's all yummy and wild-looking."

"Oh, it's you," Chandler said gruffly. Phoebe blew him a kiss.

"Aww, you're just grumpy 'cause you're not getting lucky," Rachel said, grinning at him. "Speaking of, how was last night?"

Chandler groaned and grabbed a bagel from one of the bags lying out on the counter. "How did you guys get in here?"

"The door was unlocked," she replied, sipping her coffee. Phoebe nodded enthusiastically.

"Figures," he mumbled, as he slid onto a stool.

"So . . ." Rachel said, leaning forward on her elbows. "Tell us _everything._"

"About what?"

"About last night!" Phoebe cried.

"_Why_?" he asked, slightly horrified.

"Because we're curious, and you're the first person awake," Rachel said. Phoebe started up a chant of 'Tell us, tell us, tell us!' from across the room. Chandler pressed his hands against his ears in pain.

"Okay, Phoebs, _too early _for noise!"

Rachel grabbed his arm. "_Please_ tell us. We're _dying_!"

He wrenched his arm away from Rachel's painful grip. "Fine. I, uh, went over to the apartment." He glanced at them. Phoebe and Rachel were on the edge of their seats. "And we started talking. Then, we fell asleep."

"That's it?" Phoebe asked in disappointment. "That's it? You're pathetic!"

Chandler looked resentfully at her, then asked, "Why does it even matter so much?"

"Because!" Rachel cried. "Because you two are _there. _You're in _the place._"

"The place?"

"You're _in love,_" said Phoebe mystically.

"And you're on the _road_," Rachel added.

Chandler looked thoroughly confused. "There's a road?"

"Duh," said Rachel. "The road to marriage!"

Chandler choked on his bagel.


	3. The Third One

**A/N: **You all are just so sweet, I don't know what to do with you. I guess I'll just start handing out hugs to everyone. Oh, and Amy, to make it official: "Yes, yes, a million times, yes!" You have a ring, don't you? Everyone else: I'm sorry. I really, really am.

-

"I want to talk to you," Monica said, bursting into Chandler and Joey's apartment. Joey continued to poke sullenly at his soggy cornflakes.

"Chandler's not here," he told her. Monica pulled up a stool and sat at the kitchen counter. Before speaking, she distractedly mopped up a pool of errant milk with Joey's unused napkin.

"I know. I want to talk to _you_."

"Why?"

Monica sighed and fiddled with the sleeve of her shirt. "Chandler's miserable. He hates that you're angry with us."

Joey looked up from his drowning cereal resentfully. "So what?"

"Listen, Joey, I'm one-half of the problem," she said, grasping his hand. "And I'd hate myself if I knew that I was the cause some kind of rift in your friendship with Chandler. It's the last thing I want. You know that, don't you?"

"Well, yeah," said Joey hesitantly.

Monica peered beseechingly into his face. "So will you give us a chance?"

"It's not about giving you a chance, Mon," Joey told her. He sounded extremely upset. "I just hate all the lying, and the secrets . . . I mean, you guys – it's _great. _I've never seen Chandler happier. I've never seen you happier. But . . . I feel like everything's changing, you know?"

"Joey, honey –"

"Maybe you don't care, but I do," Joey said defensively. "Everything _is _changing. You and Chandler . . . everything's been changing ever since Ross and Rachel broke up, and that was two years ago! But at least everybody knew about _that. _At least it wasn't a secret."

Monica looked baffled at Joey's vehemence. "Joey, change is for the best, even if it doesn't seem like it now – it is. Really. Why does this bother you so much?"

"Because! Because friendship isn't about secrets and lying and stuff . . . I feel like I've already lost my best friend, I don't want to lose everyone else, too. I don't want everything to split. I don't want you guys to break up and hate each other . . . I don't want you and Ross to fight and never talk to each other again . . . I can't think of anything worse than that."

"It's not going to happen," Monica assured him gently. "I promise."

"Yeah," Joey said noncommittally, returning gloomily to his cornflakes.

Monica stood up. "You know what? You're right! You're absolutely right! We _should _tell Ross, because we shouldn't keep these kinds of secrets from our friends! You're right, Joey! You're right!" She sank back onto the stool as though weakened by the thought. "But, honey, Chandler and I – we're devastated that we're putting you in the middle. It was never, _ever _our intention. But we've gone too far now. We've been in this relationship for almost ten months. Ten months! It's too good to be true! And we _know _it's not because it's a secret, we know, but it's hard. It's like breaking a habit. And we will, eventually, but when we're ready. I know it sounds stupid to you, but, Joey, you have to believe us. Chandler and I love you so much – we never wanted you to be angry with us."

Joey looked shocked at Monica's vigor. "That's what Chandler said."

Monica looked into his face. "Look, Joey, I'm going to cut to the chase. I'm not willing to come between two best friends. But I'm also not willing to let Chandler go. It's your choice. You can try to forgive us, or I can keep talking until you do. Because I'm not going to let this be a problem between us."

Joey didn't say a word. He looked down at his hands. Monica glanced at her watch and sighed in annoyance. "Okay, so I can't bug you all day, I have to go back to work, but I'm not going to let this drop. I'm not! I'll be back later, okay, so you just stay put and, just – think it over –"

Monica hurried towards the door. Joey looked up at her. "Hey, Mon?"

She turned around. "Yeah?"

"Congratulations . . . you know, on ten months."

Monica smiled at him and walked out the door.

-

"I just don't get how they can put all the blame on me!" Ross complained to Phoebe as they walked through the doors of Central Perk. "I didn't know the guy, why should I pay the hundred dollars? It's like being _born _and instantly being asked to solve all the world's problems!"

"Well, I don't think it's _exactly _the same," Phoebe said knowledgably. "I mean, you could just pay the hundred dollars and then everybody would like you. It's easy. If you were born, you couldn't just pay a hundred dollars and solve the world's problems. That's crazy."

Ross stared at her. "Oh, right, _that's _what's crazy."

"That's what I said."

"Oh, forget it," said Ross. He turned away from Phoebe and greeted Monica and Joey, who were already sitting on the orange sofa, enjoying their coffees.

"So I'm guessing work went badly?" Monica asked Ross with a small smile.

"No, work was fine – except for the fact that I felt like I was on _parole_." He crossed his arms and leaned back on the sofa. "Personality checkups every Wednesday. It's like I'm a mental patient."

Joey shrugged. "Well, you sorta are, dude."

Ross rounded on him furiously. "I was on _sabbatical, _I wasn't sent to an _asylum_!"

Joey held up his hands. "Okay, man, _what _did I say about the religious mumbo-jumbo?"

Ross glowered at him. "I cannot talk to you people."

Monica rolled her eyes. "Quit being a baby. You're back at work, aren't you? And you have your new place, don't you? And, frankly, you should be thankful _we_ haven't checked you into an asylum. We can't _stand _all of your complaining!"

Phoebe and Joey nodded. "We love you, Ross, we really do," said Phoebe amiably, "but sometimes, when you complain, I want to pour boiling coffee all over your nice new work clothes and stab you repeatedly with this fork."

"So, um, what else is wrong?" Monica asked quickly, as Ross nervously eyed the gleaming utensil in Phoebe's left hand.

"Oh, just this thing in my building," he said despondently. "Some guy is retiring and my neighbors are expecting me to pay a hundred dollars. It's completely unreasonable."

"So now they hate you, because you said no?" Monica supplied.

"Yeah, pretty much. Unless the finger really _is _the new hello."

"You know, Ross," said Phoebe, "if you want them to like you, you could just pay them. I mean, it's not, like, a huge deal, right? It's only a hundred dollars, and plus, you won't have any troubles with them later."

"Phoebe's right," Monica said. Ross opened his mouth in protest, but she held up a hand impatiently. "Look, Ross, I know your principles are at stake, and it's completely unfair, but, really, is it a good idea to be hated by your neighbors from the get-go? Think about it."

Ross looked like he was waging a war against his inner ideology. Joey watched his progress curiously.

"Okay, while you ponder that," Monica said, slinging her bag over her shoulder, "I'm going to take off – some stuff I need to do –"

"Oh, yeah!" Phoebe cried excitedly. "Oh, right! Oh!" She nodded her head. "You _do _have some stuff you need to do. And _I _have some stuff _I _need to do."

Ross looked inquiringly at her. "I thought I was going to show you my new projector tonight, Phoebs!"

"Yes, you are, and I'm very excited about that!" she assured him.

"Awesome!" cried Ross animatedly. "I want to show you some of these cool fossil slides the guys let me borrow from work!"

"Show me anything you want," Phoebe said. "It's not like I have any ulterior motives or anything."

-

Chandler paced the room, his head in his hands. He was in a no-win situation, he knew that much. Stay here, and Monica would worry, which would later turn into annoyance at his inexcusable tardiness; or, he could meet her, on time, and somehow, through the numerous skills of his foot-mouth syndrome, let slip that he had been pacing his office for the past half hour, wondering what the hell he should do.

It shouldn't have bothered him this much, but there it was, like a thorn in his side, and what is there to do about a thorn you can't reach? It wasn't like the concept of two people standing in front of a group of friends and family and being ceremonially joined for life was a spectacularly newfangled innovation – he had even wondered, if just for a moment, what Monica would look like in her satiny white gown, what the food would taste like, what the invitations would say . . . but it had just been in his head then. It wasn't actually a reality – something he would have to confront . . . in his head, he wouldn't have to pay for the food or invitations, for Monica's wedding dress . . .

So he _could _name it. The event. Chandler wrung his hands together fitfully. In an hour's time Monica would expect to see him, to talk with him, and he just knew he would freak out. It was inevitable – as inevitable as it was to buy those idiotic hats at Knicks games and never wear them again, at Monica's request.

Maybe he was just being stupid. Sure, they had been going out for ten months, sure. But how serious was it, really? Her brother didn't even know – and by the rate they were going, he probably wouldn't know until the birth of their first child. But that . . . Chandler chewed his nail nervously . . . _that_ was a totally different story.

"Chandler, what the hell are you doing?" said a voice from his doorway.

He stopped pacing immediately and turned to face a frowning Rachel.

"You were supposed to meet me half an hour ago! You left me standing, in the rain, and then, I couldn't remember where your office was, so I was walking up and down the floors, looking for you! Why the hell is your office so freakin' hard to find?" She stared at him. "What's up with you today?"

"Um, first," said Chandler, "calm down. And second, nothing. Nothing's up. I just lost track of time."

"It's something," Rachel said, squinting suspiciously. "I know it's something. Tell me."

"Seriously, Rach, it's not even –"

She gasped in realization. "You're freaking out, aren't you?"

"No!" he cried.

"You so are! You're freaking out! _That's_ why you left so early for work this morning and that's _also_ why you're here at work so late! It all adds up!"

Chandler looked resentfully at her. "Way to go, Nancy Drew."

Rachel ignored his sarcasm. "Chan_dler_," she said, almost accusatorily, "how can you do this now? Now, when you and Monica are so good together, when it's lasted this long?"

He made an agitated gesture with his arms. "I don't know, okay? I don't know! All I know is that Monica's here," he held out a hand, "and it's going really well, and I'm thinking, 'Hey, cool, I'm cured, I'm cured of my insanity, I'm absolutely fine, nothing to worry about' – and you guys are here," he held out a second hand, "and it's like – whoa, _rewind_, did you just say _marriage_? And it's almost as if there're two Chandlers. One who can deal with all this pressure, and one who's inside _screaming _because it's all too much! And I mean, God, Rach, if I could just be that one Chandler, I would, in a heartbeat – Monica deserves that. She absolutely deserves that – not the other Chandler, who shies away at marriage and babies and responsibility. She needs someone who can take the leap, and, I don't know, I just can't. Not right now."

Rachel patted his hand. "Honey, you are so sweet, and so wonderful, and Monica – she is so lucky. Listen – she knows you, Chandler, and she knows how you feel about all of this."

"Does she?" he asked hopefully.

"I'm sure."

Chandler sat down at his desk and twirled a pen between his fingers. He looked up at her after a moment. "I just can't believe I'm doing this."

"Well," said Rachel thoughtfully, "there could be a way of fixing this."

"How?" Chandler asked eagerly.

"You could always make some kind of big gesture. Sort of like a pre-emptive strike – you know, swoop in there and make sure she doesn't sense your fear. That way, she sees you're okay with moving forward, and you have some insurance in case she finds out you secretly freaked out."

"Yeah, okay. But what qualifies as a _big gesture_?"

"I don't know. Something _big, _though, to show that you're super committed."

"Huh. But does it have to _move forward_?"

"Chandler!"

"Sorry, I mean, yeah, I know it does, but . . ."

Rachel crossed her arms. "That's it. I'm hungry, and I'm taking you to dinner, your treat."

"But –"

"We're going!" she said sharply. "Unless you _want_ me to eat your pencil shavings!"

Chandler slid his pencil sharpener away from her.

-

Monica attacked him as soon as he came through the door.

"Oh my God, Chandler!" she cried. "Where were you? I've been worried sick about you! I have Phoebe looking at _dinosaur slides_ for us! She can only do so much, you know, it is a workday tomorrow! Oh my God!" she cried again. "Chandler, where were you? Why are you so late?"

Chandler cradled her face and kissed her lovingly. "I love you, Monica," he told her gently.

Her breath hitched in her chest. "Oh."

"I'm sorry I'm late," he told her, hanging up his coat. "I had dinner with Rachel. She wouldn't take no for an answer."

"Yeah," said Monica begrudgingly. "I guess you can see other women on the same night we have the rare occasion to spend time with each other . . ."

Chandler placed his hand over his heart. "I pledge, from now on, I will eternally be at Monica Geller's beck and call."

"Okay!" she cried, suddenly chipper.

Chandler smiled at her and tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear. "Hey, so what's this about Phoebe looking at dinosaur slides?"

"She's covering Ross tonight," Monica told him.

"You organized all this?" Chandler asked amusedly.

"Of course," she replied, shrugging. "But – wait – if Rachel was at dinner with you, then she's not manning her post!"

"You know what?" he said, guiding her away from the door. "It's okay. Really."

Monica relented. "Yeah, yeah, you're right." She kissed him. "How are you always doing that?"

"Doing what?" he asked her, rubbing her shoulders.

"Distracting me. Cheering me up."

"Oh, that. I thought you meant, you know, radiating cuteness."

She laughed and patted his cheek. "That too."

Chandler pondered. "Well, I don't know how I do it – I guess it's just my job."

"What's my job?" Monica asked interestedly.

"Becoming upset, so I can cheer you up."

"Cute," said Monica, "but wrong. I happen to have some news that'll cheer _you_ up. I talked to Joey, and I think he's forgiven us."

"You talked to Joey?"

Monica smiled at him. "He just needed some persuasion. It's not really about us, just the fact that we're all lying our asses off."

"That makes sense," said Chandler.

"You know what I think?" said Monica gently. "I think we should tell Ross. Not now, but soon. We just have to get it over with. I know I would feel better about it all out in the open. Joey _was_ right about that."

"I guess so," Chandler said hesitantly.

"If you don't want to, we don't have to," Monica assured him.

"No, I do want to," he told her. "I just – I just think we should wait."

"If that's what you want," Monica said softly, kissing him once more. She gestured to the bedroom, grinning suggestively. "What do you say we consummate our pact?"

"We should really start buying presents for whoever's on lookout duty," Chandler mused.

"Amen," Monica said, laughing. Chandler picked her up and carried her into the bedroom.


	4. The Fourth One

**A/N: **Thanks for all the support, everyone! And, thank you for your patience as well. I know it's taken a bit longer to update than I would've hoped. But remember, slowly but surely wins the race, or . . . whatever. Enjoy, and ignore me. I tend to be hopelessly clueless when it nears the weekend.

-

"And, so, I took your advice, and now –" Ross shrugged and held up his hands. "Voila! They _love_ me! I mean, I just handed them the hundred dollars, and all of a sudden, I was a total celebrity, and I had people bringing me drinks, and shaking my hand . . . I mean – this hot girl, Jen – she was totally all over me! Needless to say, I'm going out with her tonight." Ross leaned back against the couch and picked some imaginary lint from his sleeve. "And if all goes well, I may show her more than just my _fossil slides, _if you know what I mean."

Monica sloshed her iced tea and raised her eyebrows. "So you caved? What about your principles?"

"My principles?" repeated Ross. "Screw my principles! I'm the VIP guest at Howard's awesome par-tay!"

"How are _you _the VIP guest?" she asked skeptically. "Did you lick their shoes clean?"

Ross scowled at her. "_No_," he said derisively. "I was just my charming self."

"And?"

"And I gave them the hundred dollars."

"And?"

Ross crossed his arms and looked down at his crumb-ridden plate. "And I joined their union."

"_And_?"

"Okay, so it wasn't a hundred bucks!" Ross admitted begrudgingly. "It was more, like . . . three hundred . . ." Monica's eyes widened; she choked as she tried to repress her laughter. Ross looked highly offended. "They were staring at me, okay? I gave them the hundred, and they just kept . . . holding out their hands . . . what was I supposed to say?"

"Fuck off, moochers?" suggested Monica lightly, setting her tea down carefully on a coaster.

Ross glared at her. "If I said _that_, I would have been exactly where I started, genius."

"Oh, lighten up," she scolded. "They like you now, don't they?"

Ross grinned, despite himself. "Yeah, they _do _like me."

Monica patted his knee. "Then there you go."

At that moment, Phoebe burst through the door of Central Perk and meandered over, dropping a heavy rucksack onto the armrest of the sofa. Ross and Monica looked incredulous.

"My quarters," Phoebe explained. She brushed a strand of blonde hair from her eyes.

"Oh," they said. Ross raised his eyebrows contemptuously.

Monica asked, "Why the quarters, Phoebs?"

"You will not _believe _how hard it is to buy things with spare change!" Phoebe exclaimed. "I got kicked out of line, like, three times!"

"Shocking," Ross said.

Monica glared at him. "I'm sorry, sweetie."

"Yeah, well." Phoebe shrugged. "At least it was better than sitting in a dark room all night looking at pictures of dead lizards."

Ross cried, "You said you had fun!"

Phoebe took a drink of Monica's iced tea. "This is how I _recover _from fun, Ross, geez. Don't get in a twirl."

Ross stared at her disbelievingly. "I'm not – _getting in a twirl_!"

"Yeah, whatever."

"I'm not!" he emphasized loudly. Phoebe looked unfazed. "I'm not! It's not even an expression! You made up an expression! You CAN'T DO THAT!"

Phoebe yelled back, "WE WERE ON A BREAK!"

"WE WERE!" he countered irritably.

"Oh my _GOD_, Ross, cut it out!" Monica cried.

"You cut it out," he mumbled. Phoebe smiled triumphantly.

Monica gathered up her belongings and stood up. She pushed her iced tea towards Phoebe, who took another sip and crossed her legs. "You guys won't kill each other, promise?"

"You're leaving?" asked Phoebe. "So is this like, work-work or," she whispered excitedly, "the _other thing_?"

"What's the other thing?" Ross asked them.

Phoebe responded quickly, "She works at a – at a – a children's hospital."

"Really? Where?" he asked curiously.

"It's secret," Phoebe said quickly. "And nobody's allowed in there, because – the diseases – they'd kill you . . . you have to wear suits and everything . . . full body suits . . ."

Monica cried, "Okay, got to go to my _work-work_, Phoebs!"

"Oh, okay, then have fun!" she said.

As soon as Monica was gone, Ross turned to Phoebe and asked, "So is that how she got strep throat?"

-

"He _actually_ thought that the fossil was named Brenda," Ross said disdainfully, and he and Phoebe traipsed into Monica and Rachel's apartment a half an hour later. "I mean, who's ever heard of 'Brenda in the Sky With Diamonds'?"

Phoebe looked wistful as she fished haplessly in the ceramic cookie jar. "I wish I was in the sky with diamonds."

"No, no," said Ross. "No, no. That's not the point – he _actually _thought –"

Phoebe plucked a plum from Monica's centerpiece and made a scoffing noise that sounded like 'pushaw'. Ross stared at her.

"What was that?"

"What?" she asked innocently.

"What's 'pushaw'?"

"Oh, you know, like, 'She's late _again, _pushaw!'"

Ross clasped his hands in inner turmoil. "Um, Phoebs, I believe it's 'pshaw', for future reference –"

"So?"

"So – it's pronounced 'pshaw'. You're saying it wrong."

"It's how I say it! PUSHAW!" Ross cringed. "Pushaw, pushaw, pushaw!"

Ross and Phoebe looked up as Chandler opened the door and made a beeline for the couch. "Hey Dino Dude." He nodded at Phoebe. "Crazy Lady."

"Hey man, what's up? Aren't you supposed to be at work?"

"Aren't _you _supposed to be at work?"

"No, dude, I'm not working till two," Ross replied.

Chandler clutched nervously at his coat pocket and looked around the room. "Hey, have you guys seen Monica?"

Phoebe observed him skeptically. "First tell us why you're so twitchy."

Chandler visibly paled. "I'm not twitchy!"

"And your voice is all squeaky –"

"Yeah, dude, you need some Ritalin or something –"

"Listen, have you seen Monica or not?" Chandler said peevishly. "I need to talk to her, and I've been _everywhere_. I tried her work, I tried the coffeehouse, here . . ."

"So _really _everywhere," Phoebe said, biting into her plum. Chandler stared at her.

"Well?" he insisted desperately.

"You just missed her, man, she went to work about a half an hour ago," Ross said. "What's the deal? Is there something wrong?"

Chandler slung his coat over the sofa, plopped next to Phoebe, and crossed his arms. "Just this thing," he muttered. He stood up again restlessly. "That's it, I'm making some crappy homemade coffee – you guys want some?"

"No thanks, I'm crapped out today," Phoebe said.

Chandler shrugged and walked into Monica's eerily pristine kitchen. "Your loss. Hey, I'm gonna get some packets from my place, I'll be right back."

"Something's wrong," Phoebe said, as soon as Chandler was out of earshot, "he's all _normal _and _un-quippy_, and – _and –_ he's _making coffee_!"

"I know," said Ross, "there's something fishy going on around here."

Phoebe looked disdainful. "Okay, yeah, Ross, but we're not like a gang of kids and, like, a talking dog who solves crimes."

Ross stared dubiously at her for a long moment. "Phoebs, the point is – what are we going to do?"

"Not drink his coffee, for starters," Phoebe advised.

"Not really what I was looking for, but whatever."

Phoebe sighed. "If he's not willing to talk about whatever's bothering him, then, I mean, there's not much we can do. Unless, we, like, tortured him for information – but I haven't done that in years, so I might be rusty –"

"We're good, Phoebs," Ross assured her quickly. "You know what? If he doesn't want to tell us, he doesn't have to tell us."

"Yeah," said Phoebe, looking disappointed. "I guess. It sucks being a good friend." She stood up, lugging her rucksack of quarters. "Okay, well, I'm going to raid some new stores. I still need to buy utensils and crap."

"Oh, okay, have f –"

Phoebe spontaneously reached into Chandler's coat pocket and pulled out a twenty. Ross shot her a disapproving look. "He's paying off his 'Phoebe's such a great friend, she does so much for me' debt," she explained cheerily, adding the crisp twenty to her pocket. "He'll understand."

"At least one of us will," said Ross. He glanced at Chandler's coat pocket again. "Hey, what's that?"

"What's what?" Phoebe asked uninterestedly, brushing back her hair.

"_That_," said Ross, reaching into the pocket. He pulled out a small black box; his eyes widened.

Phoebe looked thunderstruck. "Oh my God." She looked at Ross in shock. "You're getting married _again?_"

"No!" he said defensively. "This isn't mine!"

"Oh my God!" Phoebe cried. "Oh my God!"

"What are we Oh my God-ing about?" Chandler said, as he walked through the door with a handful of small coffee packets. He saw what Ross was holding and stopped dead in his tracks. "Oh my God."

"Chandler, what's going on?" asked Ross incredulously. He stared at the black, velvety box. "I mean, it's a _ring_, dude! A ring!"

Chandler swallowed. "Yeah. I know."

"Well," said Ross, looking anxiously at him. "Well, who the hell is it, then?"

Chandler's lungs failed him.

"I – um, I – it's really hard to, uh –"

Phoebe suddenly yelled out, "It's Janice, okay? Janice!"

"What?" Ross cried.

"What?" yelped Chandler.

"Yes, yes, yes!" Phoebe said, closing her eyes dramatically. "You know you had to tell him sometime, Chandler! You've been hiding it from everybody for too long! _Too long_!"

"Yeah, um, it's a shock, isn't it?" said Chandler.

"I'd say so!" Ross cried. "Dude, why didn't you tell me?"

"He's been secretly dating her!" Phoebe said loudly. "And he was afraid how you'd react! And – and – they're eloping!"

"Yes," deadpanned Chandler, "apparently I'm from the nineteenth century, and a bastardly cheapskate."

"We have to tell everybody!" Ross said excitedly, ignoring Chandler's biting sarcasm. "Dude, I can't believe it! My best friend . . . you're really getting married?"

"That's what the ring's for," he replied, forcing a smile.

Ross looked almost giddy. "We have to tell everybody! We need to tell Rachel, and Joey! Phoebs, you call Monica and tell her to come home from work, we have _big news_!"

"M-M-Mon-Monica?" Chandler stuttered, panicky. "No, no, no, Ross, I can't tell Monica about this, I mean –"

Ross grinned. "Oh, okay. I get it."

"You do?"

"Oh, totally. She wanted to plan all my weddings, too," said Ross, rolling his eyes. "Here, you can call her at work and I _promise _to act surprised when you tell everybody later."

Chandler stared at him, laughing uncertainly. "Thanks, man. I . . . I owe you." He looked pointedly at Phoebe. "And Phoebs, you have no idea how much I owe _you._"

"It's okay, I already took your twenty," she said.


	5. The Fifth One

**A/N:** If I was omnipotent for a day, I would lock myself in an ATM vestibule with Matthew Perry. 'Nuff said. And you're welcome for the short update, I busted my ass working on this for you guys (not really) because I love you all so darn much (yes really). I hope you enjoy the ensuing chaos. I do.

-

In retrospect, Chandler thought, it could have gone worse. Ross could have sashayed around the room on cloud nine, fueled by the arrival of another "wedding", Joey could have thrown things, Phoebe could have announced other imaginary engagements as if catalyzed by disease, Rachel could have died of shock and reincarnated as the things Joey was throwing. Yes, Chandler thought, in retrospect, the dreaded _friend confrontation_ was actually very tame.

The first thing out of Joey's mouth summed up all Chandler's thoughts precisely. "Are you kidding me? Chandler can't be getting married to _Janice_! That's like – like _blasphemy_!"

Even the surprising information that Joey knew the word _blasphemy_ didn't distract Rachel. She stopped drumming her fingers on one of Ross's many fossilized objects and stared at Chandler in disbelief.

"You're getting married?" she repeated, dumbfounded. Joey glared at Chandler over her shoulder, apparently under the impression he actually _was _getting married to Janice.

Ross was ecstatic. "Yeah, he has the ring and everything. Show them the ring, Chandler!"

Chandler begrudgingly showed Rachel the ring. Phoebe nodded approvingly.

Rachel seemed to come out of her shock; she gestured at the ring, hissing, "_That _was your _big gesture_? I was thinking _flowers _or something!"

"You knew about this, too?" Ross asked, sounding hurt.

"Well – I guess – we sort of – we all did," Rachel said apprehensively.

"Yeah," agreed Phoebe. "It was kind of the _thing _this year."

"So _everyone _knew except for me?" Ross cried angrily.

"_I_ didn't know!" Joey yelled. He looked tremendously disconcerted, and ignored the very meaningful glances Phoebe and Rachel tried to send him. "I can't believe you'd do that, man! I thought you were better than that!"

Ross patted his arm sympathetically. "He had to get married someday, man."

"But – I thought –"

Phoebe cried, "Joey, you'll just have to find another man to love!"

Amidst the chaos, in which Ross screeched, "You're in love with Chandler?" and Joey adamantly denied the accusation, Chandler yelled, "Phoebe, you _have got _to stop doing that!"

"Sorry," she said sheepishly. "It's kind of habitual now."

"So you're not gay?" Ross asked Joey.

"No!" Joey yelled. "Are you kidding me? The gayest one here is Chandler!"

Chandler opened his mouth, but Rachel beat him to it. She quickly changed the subject. "Hey, where's Monica? Shouldn't she be a part of this?"

Ross, apparently pleased to know some of Chandler's undisclosed information, said, "She's helping plan the wedding, but Chandler didn't want her to know that we knew, because their relationship was supposed to be a secret."

Rachel raised her eyebrows in Chandler's direction. "Funny how that _sounds _about right . . ."

Out of nowhere, Phoebe started to laugh uncontrollably. Everyone looked at her as she sputtered out, "If you had a kid, you could name it Chanice!"

"Or Jandler," Rachel offered helpfully. Both girls collapsed into hysterics.

"I call best man!" Ross cried, waving his hand in the air.

Joey looked fiercely at Chandler. "You bastard."

Chandler remained speechless.

-

"I heard about the marriage proposal from Phoebe."

Chandler didn't know what he expected from Monica, but it certainly wasn't amusement.

"Oh," he said, after being unable to come up with anything particularly suave to say.

"And, that you were cheating on me with Janice from Joey."

He looked at her apologetically. "It was all Phoebe's doing, I swear."

"She told me that, too."

"I feel really uninvolved with this," he told her. "Did she tell you what kind of ring it was?"

"Princess cut. Diamonds. Frickin' huge."

"Eloquent." Chandler peered at her. "So you're not mad?"

"Mad? Why would I be mad?"

"Well, you _just _learned that your secret boyfriend was not only stupid enough consider the possibility of marriage, but that he vaulted over his fears like some kind of psychotic gymnast, bought a frickin' huge ring, and is now pseudo-engaged to a woman who makes his _eardrums bleed_!"

"Chandler," she said insistently, in a voice that made his insides squirm uncomfortably.

"Yeah."

"I'm not mad, okay? But – what were you _thinking_?"

"I don't know . . . it was so complicated . . . one minute, I was just having fun with you, and then Rachel and Phoebe were talking about marriage – and it was like this dam broke inside of me, and all of a sudden, I was freaking out – just _freaking out_ like I've never freaked out before – and, I don't know, Rachel said something, and I was so confused, and the only thing I could think about was you in a wedding dress – and I realized, what was a bigger gesture that a marriage proposal? And that's – well, that's where all hell broke loose."

"Oh, honey," said Monica.

"I don't even know what I was thinking – I kept telling myself it was a bad idea, but if I knew that you found about my weird phobia, when everything was going so well, I wouldn't be able to forgive myself, you know? And the ring sounded like a good idea until I realized I was actually going to go through with it – and – God, I'm so, so, so, so, s –"

"Chandler," Monica said, breaking him from his apology.

He cringed. "Yeah?"

"I've made a decision." She cradled his face and ran her thumb across his cheek. "You're the sweetest man in the world."

"Is that cryptic for, 'Yes, but you're also wrought with insanity and I don't love you anymore'?" Chandler asked her timidly.

Monica looked up at him, smiling. "Of course not. How could I not love you?"

"Okay, Mon, now you're just scaring me."

"You handled it," she explained. "You freaked out, but you handled it. I mean, granted, you went a little overboard – but, Chandler, honey, don't you realize that you tried to fix something in a relationship, and it worked? You handled a relationship crisis!"

"But how could it have been a crisis if you weren't involved?" he asked her, still skeptical.

She moved against him and brushed her hands across his chest. "Does it really matter?" she asked seductively. His eyes glazed over.

"Not really, no," he said obediently, leaning forward to kiss her.

"Good," she said, smiling against his lips.

"Wait – hey!" he cried, pulling away a moment later. "You tricked me into feeling good about myself!"

"Score!" she cried enthusiastically.

"You're good," he complimented, smiling.

"I know!" she said. "I told you! Who's the best cheerer-upper now, huh, Chandler?"

He looked nervously at her. "When did I _ever_ enter into competition with you?"

"Never mind," she said, kissing him once more.

Suddenly, the door burst open; Chandler and Monica instinctively broke apart, and not a second too soon – Ross practically skipped across the room, beaming with such happiness Chandler was unsure if he thought _Chandler _was getting married, or himself.

"So you told her?" he asked Chandler, glancing at Monica, who was covertly fixing her hair in the reflection of a spoon. She guiltily set it back on the counter.

"Yeah," said Chandler. He cleared his throat. "Yes, yes, _I did_."

"So what did you decide?" Ross asked her.

"Yay?" she said uncertainly.

"No, about the plans!" he said impatiently. "You wanted to plan Chandler's wedding, didn't you?"

"Well, yeah, of _course _I wanted to plan the _wedding_!" Monica said, laughing.

"So . . . what did you decide?" he prompted her.

Monica looked cornered; Chandler cut in, "Really, Ross, _I_ don't even know. It's a surprise wedding."

"She can't just make it a surprise!" Ross exclaimed. "_She's_ not marrying you!"

Chandler and Monica burst into wild laughter; Ross stared at them, taken aback. "No," said Chandler loudly, "you're right about _that_!"

"Righty-O!" Monica added. Chandler stared at her.

"Okay, whatever," said Ross, "I'm not in charge of the plans." He opened the door, and just before leaving, said, "But I'm definitely your best man, right, dude?"

Chandler gave him a thumbs up. "Righty-O!"

Monica sent him a very stern look and pushed Ross out the door.


	6. The Sixth One

**A/N: **Okay, I admit it, I've had writer's block (GASP, I know). I know where to go and what to do to get there, but I couldn't seem to write it. I apologize for my utter lack of updating – it wasn't on purpose, I swear. Anywho, I think this story has about 2 or 3 chapters left (unless a brilliant subplot kicks in), and I swear on my guinea pig's grave that I _will_ finish it. Let me repeat that for the record. This story _will_ be completed eventually.

-

"Are you sure you don't want to back out?" Chandler asked Monica for the umpteenth time (she had lost count up around twenty-seven). Her patience, unsurprisingly, was wearing thin.

"Yes, I'm sure. Just knock on the door."

Chandler rubbed his forehead in irritation. "Because, listen, we can still get out of it. We don't have to do this . . ."

She could feel a migraine coming on. "Chandler, I swear to God –"

He knocked. Once, twice, a third time. Even Monica was starting to grow nervous now.

"Maybe he's not home," Chandler said hopefully. Monica glared at him.

Just as both of them were about to depart, Ross opened the door and dashed Chandler's hopes of survival. He beamed at Monica. "Hey guys, c'mon in! I know it's a mess, but I've been setting up for Howard's awesome par-tay tomorrow – doesn't it look awesome?"

Chandler said in a low voice, so only Monica could hear, "We have to leave, now. There are sharp objects _everywhere_."

Monica shushed him.

Ross set down the plastic plates (_thank goodness for plastic_, Chandler thought briefly). "So, what have you decided?"

Monica looked lost. "Ross, that's not why –"

"The plans, for Chandler's wedding!" Ross looked a bit misty-eyed as he patted Chandler on the shoulder. "Dude!"

"Dude!" Chandler replied.

"So what are the plans?"

Monica looked him in the eye. "Ross, listen. That's not why we're here. Chandler needs to tell you something."

She pushed him forward. English failed him.

"Don't tell me Janice said _no,_" said Ross in concern.

"No, it's – it's not about – okay," he breathed. "This may sound insane, and you might not really understand – but, I feel like . . . I'm right here, and I just need to tell you something."

"Sure, what's up?" Ross asked, setting down some party favors on the coffee table.

"It's like –" Chandler began awkwardly. He gestured vainly. "It's like – like a door. And . . . and from one side of the door, you know things – secret things – and on the other side, you're – left in the dark. And sometimes we just have to learn to – unlock that door and _share_. Because _sharing _makes the world go 'round."

"Sure, that makes sense," said Ross understandingly.

"It does?" Monica hissed.

"Listen," said Chandler, "I may be a total idiot sometimes, but I know – I know when I have something good. And –" Chandler watched Ross's face carefully. "And – and – _Janice_? She's gonna make me real happy, man. So, so, so happy."

"Dude, that was amazing," said Ross in awe.

"Well, happiness _is_ a warm puppy – or at least a nasal-y brunette," Chandler said, as he was pulled to his feet by Monica. "So I guess we're going to skedaddle."

"Yes, we are," Monica said through gritted teeth. Ross beamed at them.

As soon as they were out of earshot, she said, "I knew we were screwed when you started on the proverbs."

-

"This is getting so stupid," Chandler told Phoebe and Rachel later that day, after reciting the failure that was that afternoon. "You guys are secret-keepers, Ross is in the dark, Monica is more stressed and shrill than usual, and Joey either thinks I'm marrying _Janice_, or is harboring a soul-consuming love for me!"

"Yeah, let's talk about that," Phoebe said excitedly.

"Oh, okay, _sure, _Pheebs, let's talk about my imaginary gay relationship with Joey when my one with Monica is teetering on the line!" Chandler replied acidly. Phoebe and Rachel looked down at their hands. "No, seriously, let's keep talking about senseless things, it's so much more _productive_ and _routine_!"

"Honey," Rachel cooed softly, putting her arm around him; she played affectionately with his hair.

"God, I've screwed up so much," he told them. "I've screwed up more than everybody else _combined_, and I don't know what to do any more. I mean, I bought a _wedding ring! _How chemically imbalanced can I be?"

Phoebe patted his hand. "Richard Simmons called for you. He wants his sanity back."

"Great. Thank you."

"I really mean it," she replied.

"What do I _do_?" he asked, turning helplessly from Phoebe to Rachel.

"Well, considering how helpful I was the _last _time you asked me, I'd say you should talk to Monica," she said. "Seriously. Just sit down, make a pot of coffee, and talk about everything that's happened. And maybe afterwards, you could help her clean or something."

Chandler sighed. "I guess I could do that."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I mean, if she hasn't burned all traces of my existence yet."

"We don't do that until you cheat on us," Phoebe said solemnly.

"She can't be too mad, Chandler, she probably felt the same way about telling Ross," Rachel said, as Chandler glanced fearfully at Phoebe.

"But I failed _her_," he said. "I'm her man, and I _failed her_. We agreed to do this, to get it out in the open, and I started talking about _doors_, and _warm puppies, _and _sharing._ I was like a psychotic do-all kindergarten teacher!"

"Chandler, that's so sweet," Rachel said.

Phoebe added, smiling, "That's so cute, you're trying to be manly!"

"Funny, Pheebs," Chandler told her resentfully.

"You should really cherish my compliments, Chandler," Phoebe told him. "I rarely ever give you any credit."

He stood up. "Okay, I'm going, I need to talk to Mon," he said. "But if she breaks the couch, I'm blaming it on you and your terrible advice."

"Fair enough."

As soon as Chandler left the apartment, Phoebe turned to Rachel.

"We should totally start a good deed business. We're putting out fires _everywhere._"

-

Monica was cleaning when he found her. "Hey."

"Hey."

"I'm really sorry."

Monica tossed her washcloth on the kitchen counter. "About what?"

Chandler crossed his arms uncomfortably. "About what? About letting you down, chickening out in front of Ross, the works." He looked around – the apartment was pristine. "That's why you're cleaning, right? Because you're pissed?"

"I don't know who you think I am," Monica said, "but I realized the apartment was a mess. That's why I'm cleaning. And I'm not pissed – maybe a little frustrated, but you understand, right?"

Chandler leaned against the counter. "So you're not avoiding me?"

"No," Monica replied good-naturedly. "Not yet. Listen, I got out of Ross's place, and I just thought, you know what, I couldn't have done it either. So I don't blame you. I wish it was over, but I don't blame you. So are you okay now?"

"It's a welcome relief, I assure you."

"Good. I'm assured."

They smiled at each other for a moment before Chandler said, "So do we have any other 'Tell Ross' plans doomed to fail?"

"We'll just take it as it comes," Monica responded, shrugging. "If we're sitting in the coffeehouse one day and we decide, hey, this'll be the time, then that'll be the time."

"That _would _be nice – a public place, unassuming witnesses –"

"There is no way you're _that _afraid of my brother."

"I'm not _afraid_," Chandler said defensively. "I just want to make sure you live to write my eulogy."

Monica rolled her eyes. "What about Joey?"

"Are you kidding? If I die, he's a goner too. Apparently you have some competition."

"Sounds like Shakespearean drama, Romeo."

Chandler grinned at her. "As long as you're my Juliet."

"Oh God, spare me," she replied. "I know who truly occupies your heart."

Chandler flung the washcloth at her.


End file.
